_Tyb._ Chave tost and tumbled yender heap our and over againe, And winowed it through my fingers, as men wold winow grain; Not so much as a hens turd but in pieces I tare it, Or what so ever clod or clay I found, I did not spare it, 5 Lokyng within and eke without, to fynd your neele, alas! But all in vaine and without help! your neele is where it was. _Gammer._ Alas my neele! we shall never meete! adue, adue, for aye! _Tyb._ Not so, Gammer, we myght it fynd, if we knew where it laye. _Cocke._ Gogs crosse, Gammer, if ye will laugh, looke in but at the doore, 10 And see how Hodg lieth tombling and tossing amids the floure, Rakyng there some fyre to fynd amonge the asshes dead, Where there is not one sparke so byg as a pyns head; At last in a darke corner two sparkes he thought he sees, Which were indede nought els but Gyb our cats two eyes. 15 "Puffe!" quod Hodg, thinking therby to have fyre without doubt; With that Gyb shut her two eyes, and so the fyre was out; And by and by them opened, even as they were before; With that the sparkes appered, even as they had done of yore; And even as Hodge blew the fire (as he did thinke), 20 Gib, as she felt the blast, strayghtway began to wyncke; Tyll Hodge fell of swering, as came best to his turne, The fier was sure bewicht, and therfore wold not burne. At last Gyb up the stayers, among the old postes and pinnes, And Hodge he hied him after, till broke were both his shinnes; 25 Cursyng and swering othes were never of his makyng, That Gyb wold fyre the house if that shee were not taken. _Gammer._ See, here is all the thought that the foolysh urchyn taketh! And Tyb, me thinke, at his elbowe almost as mery maketh. This is all the wyt ye have, when others make their mone. 30 Cum downe, Hodge, where art thou? and let the cat alone! _Hodge._ Gogs harte, help and come up! Gyb in her tayle hath fyre, And is like to burne all, if shee get a lytle hier! Cum downe, quoth you? nay, then you might count me a patch.[673] The house commeth downe on your heads, if it take ons the thatch. 35 _Gammer._ It is the cats eyes, foole, that shyneth in the darke. _Hodge._ Hath the cat, do you thinke, in every eye a sparke? _Gammer._ No, but they shyne as lyke fyre as ever man see. _Hodge._ By the masse, and she burne all, yoush beare the blame for mee!